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Working with the Man, the Myth, the
Legend By Steve Goyen |
The Master Armorer sheds some light.
"TRAINING" McHALE'S CREW
It was readily apparent to me that in all of my years of military service (now, going on twelve) I had never seen such a motley crew... I patiently stood on the set of San ‘Sid "island" U.S. Naval Base which was no more than a converted nursery. It was complete with a picturesque lagoon in Barra de Navidad, Mexico. The Pacific Ocean shimmered a deep purple-green only two miles west of us and the sky was a deep blue. Beautiful, huh? Think again. The air stank of rotting vegetation and the water in the lagoon was so contaminated from the town’s sewage that a dip could cost you your life. Three times I’d seen poor, innocent "McHale’s Navy" crew-members fall into the soup and come out looking like the swamp thing. (I hear one of the grip guys has a third arm growing out his chest now)... But I digress.
I stood by the window of Binghamton’s office and peered out as the shuttle boat dropped-off the "crew" for their military indoctrination training. Up the pier strode the men of McHale, including Brucey Campbell...and I knew my work was cut out for me. He squinted at me through the window as he approached the set and we gazed for a moment at one another. He saw a lean, military-looking guy with short hair, a glass eye, a long scar down the side of his neck and what was obviously a surgical scar from the metal plate in his forehead (okay...I embellish on my looks...I’m not lean or military-looking). What I saw was, well...all Bruce. Unshaven, longish hair, burmy shorts and sandals over white socks helplessly coated in Mexican dust...and that damned cigar butt stuck in his mouth.
"Welcome to San Sid, gentlemen...," I ventured. "This will be your new home for the next few weeks as we try to make you guys act a little like U.S. servicemen." I introduced myself and explained my job included teaching them how to salute, march (only a little) and wear what few pieces of uniform they would use somewhat correctly. You try and do that with a room full of comedians! (I mean it!!!).
Bruce lost no time in coming to attention, locking his arms at his sides and hollering, "Bruce Campbell reporting as ordered, SIRRRRRR!" He then saluted me.
I stood there amidst the laughs and smiled broadly. "Thanks Bruce...welcome aboard," was all I could get in. And that’s about all I got in all afternoon. These guys were impossible -- and Bruce (the natural leader) was like that character in all those old war movies. You know the guy. The one who becomes the bully boss during basic training and muscles all the other guys in poker.
We practiced saluting; rifle carries; shooting positions (since they’d be firing blanked weapons during filming); facing movements...and learned absolutely nothing. Frenchy Stewart almost put his eye out practicing salutes, Bruce tripped over a bunk bed doing "Left Face" and Henry Cho broke a window trying to open it because another "comedian" had eaten too many frijole beans for lunch. I’d promised the producers that none of the "talent" would be hurt, hazed or bruised during our training -- technically, I guess I lied. Here, amidst broken glass, a cut finger, two bruised toes and my headache I wondered how much medical insurance the production had and we hadn’t even left the building yet!
It became clear to us that this was no "Full Metal Jacket." We were working on a comedy that would spoof just about everything in both McHale’s genre and the U.S. Navy. How good did these guys really have to be at this Navy stuff? Bruce suggested we finish the "training" early and head back for cocktails and cigars. We agreed.
Who would’ve known that I too would get muscled into "abandoning my post" by this "tough guy from those old war movies?" I refused to play poker with Bruce out-right! I explained that the metal plate in my head made it hard for me to concentrate.
SOME QUOTES FROM THE MIGHTY SAGE OF THE AGES, BRUCE CAMPBELL
These are things said to me by The Bruce during our seemingly endless ordeal in the deepest, darkest jungles of Mexico. They are unique and touching words of wisdom. I have cherished them and spoken them to no one...until now.
1. Bruce philosophizes that it is impossible for any one man to be best loved by all mankind. But he will nevertheless give it the old college try...
2. Tomorrow is a new day...and today sucked anyway!
3. With as much as today sucked, who knows how much tomorrow will suck?
4. (After eight film takes of the same damned thing) My name is Bruce...and I am a slave...
5. Hey! Don’t drink the water. It could kill you.
6. What do you mean the bottled water is made here?!!
7. Do Navy guys really wear pants this tight?
8. When life gets you down and things just aren’t going your way...well, things just aren’t going your way...
9. Don’t ever get involved in the movie business if you hope to keep your sanity.
10. Are the voices in my head bothering you?
SEÑOR CHEESEBALL
The merciless sun beat down on the cast and crew of "McHale’s Navy" with only slightly less vengeance than the humidity. Nevertheless there we stood on the bow of PT Boat "B" ready to go to high seas again to film the now infamous chase scene between Vladikov’s Stealth/Death Boat and the old McHale’s war-horse.
We’d been over this dozens of times -- from the air, from the water, from the hero’s perspective -- from every angle imaginable and still there was more to film. And, standing tall at the bow behind the mighty M-2 .50 Caliber Heavy Machine Gun was..."The Man, The Myth, The Machine...BRUCEY BABY!" (Bruce could’ve thrown me overboard for calling him that, but he always just chuckled).
For six days we’d been working on this sequence of shots and poor Bruce kept his chin up (no easy task). Due to a ridiculous crisis with Mexican Customs, the real (albeit blanked) machine guns were held up in Mexico City. Meanwhile, Bruce had been "standing tall" as a Gunner’s Mate behind a very real-looking, authentic, reproduction replica of a mighty .50 Caliber Heavy Machine Gun. He hated pretending to fire this otherwise useless hunk of pot metal for camera. He promptly nicknamed it Senor Cheeseball.
My radio buzzed and the production office ordered my presence before the production gods. "What, now?" I wondered.
Just then a production assistant ran up to the pier as the old PT boat rumbled beneath our feet. He breathlessly informed me that I was going to Mexico City to personally straighten out this Customs issue and bring back real machine guns.
I screwed up my face at Bruce and he smiled. "Go on, now...git!" he ordered. Knocking his sailor’s cap at a cocky angle he hollered after me, "Go to Mexico City young man and bring me a machine gun that works!!!"
And, I did.
Monday of the next week I stood, once again, on that same sun-beaten deck with the old PT’s diesels rumbling away. Sitting before me, locked into the gun mount was a shiny, particularly mean-looking .50 Cal. The thin coat of grease glistened in the harsh light. I just hoped it would keep the effects of the sea salt at bay. A rusty machine gun was an unhappy machine gun.
Up the gangway strode Brucey all dressed up in his sailor’s dungarees and that funny white Navy cap. A cigar stub sat neatly in the corner of his mouth. He smiled as I spun the gun around on its pintle mount. "Well how’d it go in Mexico City?" he asked. "Do we get to trade in Senor Cheeseball for one that actually goes BOOM?!"
Realizing a need for a formal introduction I announced loudly, "Bruce Campbell, meet Senor Boomer...Senor Boomer, meet your new master, Bruce Campbell." With that, they shook hands and Bruce was like a kid in a candy store. Mind you, this is an extremely powerful weapon! Unlike almost every other prop weapon on the film boats, this was not a "gas gun" (which looks like a gun but fires compressed flammable gases). This was a real heavy machine gun. Blanks or no blanks it was heavy, deadly out to forty feet, capable of delivering real exploding balls of flame out to fifteen feet and loud as hell! And Bruce couldn’t have been happier!!
We drilled on the weapon’s operation for an hour or so. Bruce became quite a capable operator and showed a natural knack for detail. He remembered the sometimes tricky sequences needed to keep the hungry Senor Boomer working.
The pressure was on Bruce. We were low on blank ammo because Mexican Customs had lost several cases of our blank movie munitions. Bruce had to run his gun perfectly every time and not waste a single shell. That’s hard to do when the beast is rocking and rolling at hundreds of rounds per minute!
The gun boomed in his hands flawlessly and the spent brass casings flew and flew!! With gritted teeth Bruce worked that piece of heavy metal for the cameras. Once, I could have sworn I read his lips hollering, "Come get some!!" over the deafening roar of the blasting machine gun.
When it occasionally had its fits of passion and refused to fire Bruce would conduct an "immediate action drill" and had Senor Boomer running in no time. Come to think of it, I had to meddle with the gun maybe once the whole time we filmed with it. He helped me in the constant battle to keep the gun oiled and rust-free. It had become, after-all, HIS gun.
I guess Bruce has a way with "Boom Sticks"...
One afternoon at high sea Bruce and I worked to lubricate the powerful .50 caliber machine gun he would be firing in the next scene. I re-positioned the chewing tobacco in my mouth and spit over-board into the rolling waves.
"Don’t you know that stuff‘ll kill ya’?" Bruce asked earnestly, while gripping the cigar butt in his mouth. "Yeah guess you’re right," I responded, suddenly self conscious. The thought of my hero Bruce Campbell not approving of me brought me to the very brink of despair! Only time and deep contemplation would heal my deep wound...
Moments later I felt better.
The wind kicked up and, as we finished wiping down the metal, he gestured to the chew in my mouth, "Really man...yur killin’ yurself."
"Okay already!" I responded as I walked from the bow of the PT boat amidships. As I cleared the bridge I spit out the tobacco. It flew right into the wind and onto David Alan Greer’s head.
Oops...
To this day I blame Bruce for that milestone in my life. The tremendous emotional trauma that I suffered was completely due to the terrible influence he exerted on me. Now David Allen Greer will forever remember me as the guy who spit chew on him. Thanks Bruce. Therapy hasn’t helped.
You’ll be happy to know that I no longer chew thanks to that horribly painful incident. Now I just pop Prozac...
BRISCO COUNTY JR.
I once told Bruce how much my family loved him in "Brisco County Jr." and he smiled a big "Thank You" at me. He paused suddenly with a sullen look on his face.
"Well, what about you?" he asked. "Did you like it?"
"No," I replied. "Never watched it."
"Well to hell with you! Get off my movie you screw-head...go home!" he screamed.
And then he killed me. (Actually I told him "yes" and we never spoke about it again.)
Page Updated 03/30/00.